Closer
by hathawayrose
Summary: "They know each other's bodies, and she knows, in the moves of her hands, that her body recognizes his, even though her mind refuses to remember." Set in the boarding house sometime after 6x09, ignoring 6x10. Just plot-free Delena smut, because I had a crappy day and I needed it.


A/N: Just a little something I wrote once when I couldn't sleep and I quite liked how it turned out. I don't have a beta so please forgive any mistakes. To err is human.

This is my first attempt with D/E so please let me know if you like it.

* * *

It's late. She shouldn't be here, she knows, but there is something about this house that makes her stay. Or maybe it's that she has nowhere to go, or that Damon has repeated over and over again, that even if they're not together anymore, she will always have a place here.

She remembers it, of course, from many moments she shared there with Stefan. She even remembers how they wrote the deed to the house to her name, only for the sake of her being safe. What she doesn't remember, however, are the moments she shared in it with Damon. Those moments in front of the fireplace he talked to her about hoping she would remember. He told her all of it, but she just doesn't remember.

Her eyes shut in frustration and she brings his words to her head and she can almost imagine it, her standing there, telling him she was in love with him, and hell if she was going to apologize for it. She hears his voice, as if he was there, telling her right now.

"Elena?"

She turns around, startled by his sudden appearance, but not really surprised. She recently learned how he seems to appear out of nowhere everywhere she is, or how he fills the space completely and totally. She feels him in the air around her; she smells his scent, which is more familiar to her with every passing day. She hears him in the silence, recognizes his voice in the crowd; she even knows his breathing now. She never knew she would, but she does.

His eyes too. She feels as if she is not complete when his eyes are not meeting hers, when she's not swimming in the deepest ocean of blue.

"I was just getting water," she murmurs softly in response. She loves the way he says her name in the gentlest way possible, like a caress to her ears, but it always sounds incredibly sexual to her. Maybe it's just her.

"It's okay, feel at home." His words make her look up, because she does. She feels as if she had made this place home before, as if she could again. She swallows nodding and he looks at her again. She feels him undressing her with his eyes and she doesn't mind this time, it seems natural now. He seems nervous, but then his lips are on hers and she's kissing him back. It's like her life mission is to lose herself in the kiss and savour his lips as much as she can before she dies, or maybe before he dies again.

She pulls him closer, acting on instinct. She tangles her fingers in his hair and kisses him. It all fades away, the fact that he's supposed to be a monster to her, or that she doesn't remember almost anything she went through with him. What does it matter anyway, when he is here, pushing her against the kitchen counter, looking at her like she is the single most precious thing he has ever seen. He stops, gasping for unnecessary air. He looks at her, searching for doubt, softly caressing her cheek. When he doesn't find any, he dives back in, attacking her lips like a thirsty man finding water. Their lips melt into one and she arches her back against his body, her response so natural, she knows this isn't the first time, she knows her body was made to be pressed against his. So she lets her body lead her. He pushes her back against the counter, lifting her up until she's sitting on it. She pulls him closer, making him step in between her legs and she gladly wraps them around him; her heels dig in his back, keeping him close to her, making the bulge in his pants grind against her core. His kisses lower, he leaves a trail of them all over her neck. It makes her breathing heavy. He stops again and she launches right back in. They're too far gone for stopping now; they're too far gone for _her_ to stop. She _needs_ this, and she knows he needs it too.

Her shirt falls on the floor, soon forgotten as he turns to explore the once-so-familiar territory. Even though he knows every inch of her body, it's as if he saw it for the first time. He takes his time, savouring all of it, savouring her. Her head falls back and she lets out a moan when she realizes he's gotten rid of her bra. She pulls his head closer; she just needs him _closer_, and it's not possible. He's already as close as it gets.

Her core pulses with excitement. There are no doubts, because how could this be wrong, when it feels so right?

Her hands lift his shirt, needing to feel skin under her fingers. She strokes gently, cherishing it, all of his god-like features. When her fingers reach the edge of his jeans she suddenly gets distracted. His mouth is now on her breast, and she can't take it. She lets out a gasp. She thinks, his mouth might have been created with a sole purpose of giving her pleasure. Her mind is all foggy now and she needs him closer.

_Oh god, closer._

"Damon," she whimpers against him and he grins with hearing that. He's missed that sound. The plea in her voice when she's all pliant and needy in his arms. He lives for those sounds she makes. "Please." Her hands clutch the back of his neck and she feels she's going to explode if she doesn't feel him closer. She finds his grin the sexiest thing on earth.

He helps her pull down her shorts, her impatience amusing him. They get rid of his shirt between fits of giggles and laughter. As soon as that is gone she pulls him back, quickly undoing the buckle of his belt. He chuckles and helps her, easing her need with kisses he leaves all over her body. She happily realizes he's gone commando, and she gets the feeling he does this a lot. It's this feeling she has, that she knows what she's doing, a sense of familiarity. They know each other's bodies, and she knows, in the moves of her hand, that her body recognizes his, even though her mind refuses to remember.

"Please," she whispers one more time, agitated and needy. It's all it takes for him. He rips the last obstacle on his way and enters her in one swift movement.

_Close, he's finally close enough, and she feels so whole._

Their lips meet again, as he finds a rhythm and she comes in sync with him, because his rhythm is also her rhythm. He slams into her, helplessly lost, and so is she, because she imagined it, but not like this, not so perfect, not feeling so… _free_.

She feels herself close and as he murmurs softly, willing her to come with him; she does, and she shatters in his arms, falling to pieces as an orgasm shakes her entire body. At the same time, he comes too, burying his face into the creek of her shoulder, with a shadow of her name on his lips. She knows then, that she belongs to him, as he belongs to her, because she has never felt more at home than she does right now.

Desperate to know what he is thinking now, she pulls his face up, forcing him to look into her eyes. She expects to find so many things. Anything, but what she really finds. Fear. Fear of looking at her and seeing regret, or realizing it had all been a result of lust. Because it is not just lust for him, she can see that, she knows.

It is not just lust for her either; she needs him to know too. He must know. So she shows him.

She shows him with tiny light kisses, with heavy lusty kisses, with comforting kisses, with kisses that testify of her love without leaving doubts.

She also tells him, a lot, just in case. She can't remember the last time she said it, and she intends to remember every single time she does now, whispering the words out.

_I_ and _love_ and _you_.

Time and time again until she heals the scars she caused. Every single one of them.


End file.
